


Try Everything

by oldmythologies



Series: Miscellaneous Voltron AUs [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Roommates, Shance if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/pseuds/oldmythologies
Summary: In which Lance believes that anything is a lullaby if you sing it soft enough <3





	Try Everything

Lance knew that he didn’t have to be awake at two in the morning, knew that the article he was currently trying to get through wasn’t technically required reading, but his brain kept telling him he  _ needed  _ to finish it. He needed to be able to understand this garbage about the phylogenetic relationships between human and animal viruses and their role in evolution because if he didn’t understand it, what was he even doing here?

He started the paper over again. He could at least get the abstract under his belt before going to sleep. That was the least he could do.

The apartment was quiet as he started the first sentence once again.

_ The study of molecular genetics has produced a considerable body of research into the sequences and phylogenetic relationships of… _

He sighed, feeling the concentration and understanding slip from his mind once more. He took a deep breath.

This time he got a paragraph in before he lost it. It was too late, and he logically knew that there would be absolutely no ramifications if he didn’t finish it. It wasn’t even extra credit, it was just related to their current studies. He just— he needed to get through it. He needed to prove to himself that he could get through it.

He rubbed his eyes and stood up, walking to the shitty, tiny, dirty kitchen.

Coffee.

Coffee always helped.

He yawned as he filled the kettle and placed it back on the stove and filled the french press with coffee. Hunk had insisted that french press coffee was easier, cheaper, and better, and Lance didn’t care enough to argue. He leaned on the counter while he waited for the water to boil.

He wished he could just blast dance music like he had at home whenever he was tired, but college was different. Neighbours were closer, here, and roommates were sleeping. God only knew his roommate didn’t sleep enough, what with all the five AM showers and running and late nights studying along with Lance. The earbuds currently blasting Shakira into his brain gave nothing but a tinny, weak replication of the feeling that could only be provided by a nice speaker injecting the bass right into his chest.

He looked around the kitchen. There were no dishes in the sink, all neatly put away, but neither of them really had any time to deep clean. He wrinkled his nose at the crumbs stuck in the grout and rings in the sink.

Before he could do anything, the kettle set out its light whistle. He pulled it off the stove before the sound could get any louder.

He loved this part, and Lance pulled out his earbuds for it. He loved watching the coffee swirl up as he poured the boiling water over it, the little sounds of bubbles forming and popping up at the surface.

Only four minutes until coffee. Sweet.

He grabbed a brush and started on the grout, phone and earbuds forgotten on the counter.

If he had popped them back in, he wouldn’t have heard it, but as soon as the soft whimpers hit his ears, his head perked up.

His brows furrowed in confusion. They were on the fourth floor, it couldn’t be a stray dog outside. Maybe a neighbour? His roommate?

_ Oh. _

Lance knew that his roommate had gone through some shit. You couldn’t look at him and not know that. He held his prosthetic in his pocket at all times, and just walking down the street, you wouldn’t even notice that his right arm was just a bad imitation of the real deal, but there was no getting away from the massive scar running horizontally across his entire face or the white hair.

They’d only been living together for a few weeks and Shiro had been nothing but pleasant. He cleaned up after himself, paid the rent on time, was good to watch TV with. He just wasn’t very talkative, and that was okay with Lance, he did enough talking on his own. He had told Shiro about every single one of his siblings, about the years taking care of them while his mom was recovering, about every funny and annoying little thing they did.

Shiro never talked about the military. Ever.

The whimpering got louder and Lance thought he was starting to hear words.

He put the brush in the sink and wiped his hands on the dish towel. His little brothers and sisters had nightmares sometimes and he knew how to deal with it for them. One brother like to be pulled directly into a hug, one liked to be sung awake, one liked their hair stroked.

Shiro was different. Shiro was a grown-ass man who had seen more than Lance hoped any of his siblings ever would. Shiro was built like a brick shit-house and Lance had no doubt that in his prime, Shiro could kick just about anyone’s ass without a second house. It didn’t matter that the man was a pure teddy bear; if Shiro was waking up from a violent dream, there was a chance he could get violent. Lance knew this and was willing to take the risk of his own safety, but he already knew that the mild-mannered man would never be able to forgive himself if he hurt anyone.

Lance stood outside the door, listening to the voice get louder, words still indecipherable through the wood, but the mumbling and whimpering turning into shouts.

Lance cracked the door open to Shiro, still in his long pajama pants and long sleeved shirt, tied right where his arm left off. He was sweating and tangled up in the sheets, trying to thrash them off.

“ _ No,”  _ he murmured, “jus’ lemme go,  _ please. _ ”

When Shiro’s voice turned into a broken shout on that last word, Lance’s heart fell.

Singing. He could sing. His sister liked it.

“ _ I messed up tonight, I lost another fight, _ ” it didn’t matter what he sang, it never did, it just needed to be soft. He could make Shakira soft.

“ _ I still mess up but I'll just start again, I keep falling down, I keep on hitting the ground,” _

Shiro seemed to still be listening to his dream, faces pulled tight, jaw straining and left fist clenched as he pulled at the sheets.

Lance kept singing, kneeling at Shiro’s side, the man’s room impeccably clean, the carpet soft on his knees. He liked to think that the singing was helping, that the shouting was getting quieter and the strain was lessening, but if that was true, it was barely perceptible.

He moved on to the next sibling’s favorite nightmare technique, singing the whole time. He was hesitant, hand hovering over Shiro’s hair. He didn’t think you were supposed to touch people in violent nightmares, right? He didn’t even know Shiro that well, maybe he should just go.

Shiro let out another pained whine and Lance swallowed his doubt, threading his fingers back through Shiro’s fringe.

The response to this one was immediate. His entire body stilled, and not necessarily in a good way. his entire body froze, muscles tight. His breathing didn’t even out but the sounds stopped. Lance’s hand paused for a moment, but hey, this was better, so he kept going.

“ _ I won’t give up, no I won’t give in, ‘till I reach the end, and then I’ll start again, _ ”

Shiro’s eyes slowly opened, staring straight at the ceiling, and it was only at that moment that the tears escaped from his eyes. He let out a shuddering breath, forced even breaths through his mouth.

Lance sang and stroked his hair as Shiro obviously tried to pull himself together. He could see the moment that Shiro really realized what was happening by his sudden push to an upright position, Shiro catching Lance’s gaze and pulling his knees up to his chest, backing into the headboard.

“‘m so sorry, Lance, did I wake you up? I didn’t—” he wiped the tears from his eyes, “I didn’t mean to wake you, I promise it won’t happen ag—”

Shiro was cut off, suddenly held, his face shoved into Lance’s shirt. It was immediately dampened by tears and Shiro pretended to push away for a moment before melting into the hug.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into Lance’s shirt.

Lance nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

Shiro shook his head violently into Lance’s chest. Lance just held him tighter.

“I made coffee, want some?”

Shiro nodded and pulled away.

“I’m really sorry, I try to not let it be a problem, but…” he drifted off.

Lance grabbed Shiro’s hand and tried to catch his gaze, averted to the blankets. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know what happened, but it doesn’t matter. You’re allowed to hurt.”

Shiro nodded again and scrubbed his hands down his face. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“They’re right.”

Shiro swung his legs out of the bed and felt the carpet between his toes. Lance pulled him up and on the way to the kitchen, he left their fingers interlaced.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this ages ago on tumblr [@oldmythos](http://oldmythos.tumblr.com). Oops <3


End file.
